Imprisoned
by slam a revolving door
Summary: [Oneshot] 'My wedding marks a great change for me. Unfortunately it is not for the better. A man lording it over me, controlling my actions and ruling me. I must not be conquered. I refuse to be conquered.' A girl forced into an arranged marriage reflects


**Disclaimer: I do not own fairytales.**

**A/N: This may be a two-parter, or a three-parter, or even a story, depending on how well it is received. At the moment, it is merely a one-shot. **

**Imprisoned**

I stand in front of the mirror. So this is what my life is to be. I am to be wed to a man of whom I know nothing about – save the fact that he is a rich noble – one that will be able to pay off my family's debts. One that has taken pity on us. Why he wishes to marry me, I have no clue. But the fact remains that he does. He does, and that restricts my life and holds me captive.

Rebel! Run away! That's' what my friends tell me. They can't talk; they aren't in my position. They are reasonably well off, or at least not in debt. They don't know what it's like – to be relied on. My parents love me dearly, of that I have no doubt. They trust me implicitly, and every moment ticking away – closer to my wedding – is an arrow through their heart. How can I betray that trust? I know if there were another way out, my parents would seize it with both hands – anything to save me from sacrificing myself at this altar. This altar. Yet there is _no other way_. My father's back pains him – he cannot work. My mother does all she can – she is a seamstress, but she cannot hope to compete against the cloths that merchants bring in from far off exotic places. My brother has gone to war and my sister is helping my mother. I too have tried my best to earn money for the family – I have been apprenticed to a baker, but that too to no avail.

Not that I didn't love my apprenticeship – I did. My mistress was kind and taught me well. I went on her daily bread rounds with her and her husband and delivered the bread to the folk of my village who cannot bake bread themselves. Wheat is scarce here. Perhaps if I hadn't been on my rounds the noble I am about to marry mayn't have heard tell of me. I have never laid my eyes on him in the course of my entire life of sixteen summers. How he heard of me, I cannot even begin to fathom. I have never interacted with any male outside of my family. Yet now I have to wed a perfect stranger.

What can I hope for? I can hope that he is kind to me, that he respects me and treats me as an equal. Perchance we may be able to talk to each other easily and maybe I will learn to love him eventually. Maybe I will forgive him not having courted me properly, and maybe I will forgive him for gaining my hand in matrimony from my parents without my prior acceptance. But I doubt any of these are true. No doubt my fiancé is a rich, spoilt man who will use me as a mere object – a plaything. But I shall not dwell on such thoughts – they will only serve to create tears for me. I do not wish to cause my parents more grief than they already are experiencing.

Weddings are meant to be joyous occasions. They are a sign of a couple's great love and trust for each other, to be able to place themselves so trustingly into their partner's hands. They mark a great change in a person's life. My wedding marks a great change for me. Unfortunately it is not for the better. A man lording it over me, controlling my actions and ruling me. I must not be conquered. I refuse to be conquered.

I will be conquered.

My sister wanders in.

"You look beautiful." She tells me. I smile at her. She is a pretty thing, of twelve summers. Unbidden, the thought floats to my head: why couldn't it be her, wedding this man, instead of me? Horrified, I push the thought away. Tilting my head on its side I observe my sister. She has long, curly blonde hair, the type that only fairy princesses have. Her blue eyes are wide and innocent. Innocent – that's what she is. I kiss her brow. I hope she will always stay that way.

"Please leave me." I say quietly. "I need some time to prepare for… this."

She nods and leaves.

I look at myself in the mirror again. The girl in the mirror looks back at me. She is tall and willowy. Her dark brown tresses are pulled back in an elaborate hairstyle... but it is her eyes which intrigue me most. They are haunted, scared grey ones.

Do I really look like that? I never actually realised. Or maybe it is an attempt on my part to romanticise this whole sorry tale. It is not a fairytale. It will never be. But I can hope - hope! - that the nobleman will take one look at me and scarper. Maybe he'll marry someone else. No, I mustn't think that. If he were to wed another, where would my family be? In the gutter, in the empty streets where horses tread and dogs run wild. Fishing out of piles of discarded scraps to find something to eat. Starving... hungry... always.

No. I must endeavour to be the best wife I can - to be the best _bride_ I can. It doesn't matter anymore whether I wish to or not. This is far beyond my wishes, my desires, me. This is a matter of honour, a matter of life...death. If I do not please this nobleman, then my family will perish in the cold winter, in the hot summer. It is the dowry he is bestowing upon me that will restore my family's fortune. I suppose I should feel bitter towards my parents, I suppose I should cry. Why is it that I should bear this weight on my shoulders? But I cannot. I cannot beg, I cannot cry, I cannot blame. My parents have sheltered me to the best of their abilities all my life. It is my turn to pay them back. It is my turn to venture out into the world, and from this, no one can protect me.

Now that I think about it, it's strange. Every event in my life has had someone by my side, a watchful, waiting, guarding someone. Whether it was my mother or father is immaterial. Sometimes it wasn't even them. But there has always been someone there, someone watching. And now, now that that protection has been ripped away, I am scared. Not every girl has their security wrenched away like I am about to. But... all things must come to an end. And this is the end of my childhood - and nothing will bring it back.

Mother eases herself into the room.

"It's time, dear." She says, lip trembling. "Oh, darling, your husband is very handsome - he'll treat you well, I'm sure."

I smile back at her, to reassure her, but I don't believe her. Looks can conceal so much. How can a man who asks a girl who knows nothing of him to marry him be a good man? I close my eyes, trying to summon up all my courage.

"I'm ready, Mother."

The music that accompanies us down the stairs sounds to me every bit like a funeral march.

* * *


End file.
